Non Omnis Moriar
by Burlesque Romantique
Summary: Antonio knew that once someone is bitten, they're dead after dying. So all he can do is run. Spamano, AU


I Shall Not Wholly Die

Antonio had never put much thought into what people offhandedly commented about how he and Lovino were closer than brothers. But if he were to take the time to stop and put a thought into their words he would have agreed, would have nodded his head in that absent-minded way of his and said they were right. Antonio has … had … a relative who fit the biological definition of a brother, but Antonio found that he felt closer to Lovino than any other single human being he's known. He remembered silly promises and childhood vows that were bound by pinkies and conspiratorial whispers behind cupped hands. A motto. Something that children just do, then forget about as life calls them away. But he meant it, and he was sure Lovino meant it, too.

_Beyond the end._

They would always be there for each other, no matter the circumstances. Even after the draining days behind school-bound, educational prison bars, the throes of infatuation of a meaningless relationship, and death itself with its talons digging into their souls, he truly believed with the innocence of a child that none of those things would keep them apart. And they held that vow. As those walking abominations turned the town into a slaughterhouse and tore apart everyone they loved, they held that vow. That's why Antonio was there with Lovino, holding his hand and desperately trying to staunch the spurts of blood that sprayed from the open wound at his neck, sputtering out false hope and empty promises and _oh, god, it's okay Lovino shhhh. _He told him that they wouldn't be apart long because the blood draining between the cracks on the frigid tile floor was painting the restaurant kitchen floor with its macabre coating so quickly that he was still slightly surprised that Lovino hadn't died already. He wished he did. It would be much easier if he didn't have to listen to Lovino whimper and choke and cry through the thick mixture of saliva and rust-flavored spittle that sprayed from his lips. Antonio was panicking because he couldn't fix this. He couldn't make this better and Lovino was dying and soon he'd be a fucking corpse trying to rip him to pieces. He couldn't try to amputate anything because the jagged bite was at the juncture between Lovino's neck and shoulder and the infection was probably already blackening his heart and decaying his lungs.

He wept and gagged as he pulled his hand from the open wound flecked with torn flesh and loose bits because Lovino finally stopped moving and he pressed his cleaner hand to his deadened eyes to close them. He swept his gore-slicked hand across his jeans before gathering Lovino's cadaver into his arms and danced his fingers down his spine in a pseudo-soothing gesture, even though Lovino couldn't feel anything anymore.

It wasn't long before Lovino stirred in a twitchy way, reminiscent of someone having a violent seizure, and Antonio barely had enough time to hold him back as his eyes rolled open and he lunged for his throat. In a small fit of insanity, he didn't run away at first. He tried to help him. Then he tried to kill him because he knew that Lovino wouldn't want to be like that. He just didn't have anything to kill him with, and he wasn't really giving Antonio much time to look.

So he ran, coatless but fortunately wearing fantastic boots, into the obscure October blizzard, with Lovino on his heels.

It was a pathetic attempt, he knew it. But instinct compelled him to at least try. No weapon to kill him meant no weapon to defend himself with, either. His best-case scenario was that he would freeze to death before Lovino could reach him. He could live with that. That was okay with him. Even if Lovino was gone … far, far gone … he just couldn't let the thing that wore his face feast on his best friend. That was an insult that Antonio refused to allow.

The first few minutes were fine. He moved through the snow pretty well, was able to distance himself from Lovino quickly. Of course, he knew, that although he was running from Lovino it only meant that he was running towards the same abominations that had taken the town. Antonio reasoned that it still didn't matter. He was heading nowhere, but making great time.

Then the cold hit him.

Hard.

And, because God or Mother Nature or whatever he/she/it thinks it is hilarious, the snow intensified to the point where Antonio could only see a few inches in front of his face. The flurries kissed his cheeks with painful pinpricks and the frozen winds whipped at his back but still managed to make his lungs burn each time he inhaled.

The numbing began in his ears, and he barely had the balance to bring his lethargic arms up to try and rub at them as he powered through the increasing snow cover, but that only served to numb his fingers as well. The numbness snaked inwards, curling tendrils along his forearms, shoulders, neck.

But his feet? Never felt better.

Excellent boots.

He glanced behind, briefly. With the wind stinging his eyes he couldn't be sure, but it looked like Lovino was gaining little by little. Even if he wasn't, even if Antonio's frostbitten mind was playing tricks on him, it was only a matter of time. He didn't have to be a scientist to figure out that Lovino didn't feel, couldn't feel, what he felt. He had a good half-inch of snow in him, whereas Antonio only had an icy dusting. His otherwise unoccupied mind theorized that it was because, to put it bluntly, he was dead, and gave off no body heat to keep the snow from piling on him. He imagined that the coating would be the only thing for an observer to tell just who was living and who was not.

The end was getting close. There wasn't even a chance for Antonio to deny it; he long-jumped over the first four stages of grief and landed right on acceptance. The best plan he could come up with was to get someplace inaccessible that Lovino couldn't reach so he could save both whatever was left of Lovino's soul and himself some serious hurt. Maybe, if he was lucky enough and there were survivors somewhere _oh, dear God, please let there be survivors, _he could present something suitable for a burial.

Even near death, it was important to have a goal in mind, Antonio reasoned. Otherwise, what was the damn point? Of anything?

He willed himself to look at his surroundings, at the blackened woods he grew up playing in. Hide – and – Seek gave way to not really camping to paintball to an unsuccessful attempt of them trying to start smoking to even almost making out with Lovino in…

...in the cave.

He was close.

It wasn't necessarily the cave he was interested in, but the rather steep incline in front of it. Antonio didn't think that Lovino, whose coordination was now shot to shit, could handle it. He ignored the tiny bit that whispered to him that _he_ probably couldn't either, but it was all he had.

He looked back once more. Now there was no doubt, Lovino was closing the gap. He hooked as sharp a left as he could manage and concentrated on his march: lift left foot, push, stomp. Lift right foot, push, stomp. Repeat.

He was there.

The incline looked murderous to him. When he was a little younger, after he and Lovino had figured out the path of least resistance, they'd take whatever girl they'd been dating at the time there. Or try to, anyway. Until they realized they were more interested in each other and would hike up there for the seclusion. It was a big part of the attraction, but so was the climb. It was nice knowing that someone trusted him enough to lead them, hand – in – hand, up a hill into a dark cave in the middle of nowhere.

He reached the bottom and grasped the first exposed root that twisted from the base of the alcove. The same branch had been the starting point for every successful climb. Start anywhere else, and there would be a painful trip to the bottom again (and not necessarily by choice). Lovino learned that the hard way, and still had the scar on his knee to prove it. He remembered just about having a heart attack when it happened.

He couldn't feel the root. Antonio looked at his hand and realized he hadn't even grasped it. It was sort of just resting there, Lovino's blood the only contrast against the whitewashed background. He willed his hand to close, but no movement.

So that was it.

He turned around. Lovino was too close now.

Antonio slumped into the snow and rested his back against the tree.

All he wanted now was to hold him off long enough to die, Then, Lovino could do … what those things did best.

He heard the sound of snow crunching underfoot. He turned his head as quickly as he could (not quickly at all), and saw another human silhouette. Antonio felt a momentary burst of hope that he'd been rescued, but the splattered mess of gore had turned a white button-down shirt almost entirely crimson. Maybe someone else had found themselves in a similar situation as him. Antonio thought he fared a little better, for whatever that was worth.

It made a snarling noise and moved towards him.

Lovino was on it immediately.

Antonio had witnessed this kind of behavior before. These things wouldn't eat each other that he knew of. They were, however, territorial as all hell. At that moment, he was the territory, and he did something he'd never done before in his life. He rooted against Lovino. He wanted the other thing to put Lovino down for good and, if it had to come to that, be the one to finish him off. Two birds, one undead stone.

Lovino, damn him, showed the same indefatigable resolve that Antonio had seen so often during a soccer game. He tore that thing apart. Very literally. A severed arm splattered close enough to him that it left thick droplets of blood across his leg. He could have reached out and touched it. Or it, him.

Lovino turned to him, all business again.

Antonio raised his arms in front of himself, to protect his face, neck, anything, but the panic pulsing in his veins wasn't making his body respond any faster. Nothing was working right.

Except for his feet. Still toasty warm.

Trying to focus on that feeling, he ignored how Lovino dropped to his knees three feet in front of him and leaned in, teeth bared. He moved slowly. Even though he couldn't feel the frozen air, it was still doing a number on his body. Unless the weather broke soon, he'd eventually freeze, too, right next to whatever remained of what Lovino left.

Antonio found it in himself to split open his cracked lips, lifeless and barely moving, to relay a message that hopefully didn't sound as garbled as he thought it did. But what he was going for was,

"Beyond the end, right, Lovi?"

And his voice wavered and died off, and he felt the hands of death, sleep, darkness pulling him into nothing.

Lovino stopped.

Stared.

He was close enough that Antonio could smell him. There was no smell of decay; he hadn't been dead that long. He smelled like the coffee he had that morning.

He twitched, then sat back on his heels.

Antonio knew what he should have thought. That the cold had finally broken him down, as it had done to him. Or maybe he smelled the death that accompanied the numbing cold on his body and decided that Antonio would have been unpalatable. Or a plethora of other reasons. All or none of the things that went through his head may have been true. But he ignored all those things, he didn't really care.

He knew … _he knew … _what he saw in his eyes. A spark of recognition. Momentary. Instantaneous. Unrecognizable to anyone who wasn't at the edge of oblivion.

Real.

Antonio's mouth curved into what he thought was a smile.

_We win, huh, Lovino. One last time, we win. _

Feeling strangely protected, he closed his eyes, embraced the end, and went to see what waited beyond.


End file.
